The western coast road on Lombok followed the convoluted coastline of coves, inlets, bays and hills. At the top of each hill magnificent vistas of deserted, white sand beaches unfolded in each direction. The white crests of waves advanced in ranks across the blue ocean on to the palm lined beaches stretching into the distance. In more protected coves, lines of wooden fishing boats with outriggers were pulled up on to the sand. Here we chatted to Lombok fishermen about high waves, strong winds and treacherous currents. Two fishermen had been lost only the week before.

Lombok, east of Bali, was a delightfully laid back island, largely undeveloped outside of the Capital, Mataram. Certainly there were small hotels, guesthouses and shacks but we could walk down to fishermen’s beaches and share a glass of tea with them before strolling on.

The two main attractions were the Gunung Rinjani volcano which could be climbed in three days to see the colourful crater lakes and the tropical Gili Islands. Visitors flock to the white sand beaches and crystal clear blue waters of the Gili Islands which are surrounded by living coral. We took a public boat out to the islands and enjoyed the peaceful calm of Gili Trawangan where cars and motorbikes are banned. The only transport is pony and trap, cycling or walking.

An island hoping boat took us to Gili Meno and then Gili Air. Returning to Lombok from Gili Air we hitched a ride in a family fishing boat, owned by Jon. As the sun slowly set the evening breeze strengthened into a wind, whipping up a choppy sea of white crested waves separated by deep troughs. We watched Jon’s son Dos bale out water as the boat struggled to climb up a mountain of white steaked green water, the summit high above our heads. As we broached the top the outrigger dug deep into the foam lashing a shower of spray over us and into the boat. Dos baled steadily chatting about British football teams, quite unconcerned with the weather.

It was wonderful to relax on Lombok. As with the rest of Indonesia the people were friendly and welcoming. Less sophisticated than Java and with less polish than Bali Lombok had a natural charm that was refreshing.

There was something exquisite about lying on a white coral beach watching the small brown local children paddling in the turquoise waters of the lagoon whilst the blue and white fishing boats rocked gently on their outriggers. Beyond the boats, blue and emerald breakers rolled in long translucent tubes cresting frothy white and crashed on the outlying reef. High above in the clear azure sky colourful kites, like hovering hawks or galleons in full sail, played with the light breezes which rustled the fronds of the beachside palms. We stayed in the quiet town of Sanur on Bali, away from the bustling beaches further south.

But it was not just the amazing beaches which made Bali the jewel in the crown of the Indonesian Tourist Board.  It was not even the towering conical mass of Gunung Agnung, the huge 3000 metre high volcano which dominated the island. The beautifully sculptured, rich green, terraced rice fields curved gracefully around the lower slopes, giving way to towering trees and jungle on the dramatic higher elevations.  Startlingly blue crater lakes nestled in gigantic dark green vegetation lined bowls surrounded by stark jagged volcanic mountains. But for us the main attraction was the delightful, friendly, smiling Balinese people.

We were welcomed into ancient Hindu temples and into people’s houses. In one house we saw two big porcupines in a cage, not family pets but fresh meat for the pot. Unlike the rest of Indonesia most Balinese are Hindu. So we were surprised to see beef prominently on the menu. As Madé, a Hindu friend explained beaming,
“Cows are sacred, but also very delicious.”

Ubud was a picturesque village in the heart of Bali, much favoured by artists, sculptors and wood carvers as a source of natural inspiration. While we were there the King of Ubud died and there was a huge funeral ceremony, attended by thousands of people. Madé explained that everyone was cremated on an open funeral pyre. However the expense of organising a funeral ceremony and providing the catering was so great that many families ‘store’ their dead relatives in a cemetery until there were enough corpses to cremate at the same time and share the expenses.  So it was that at the cremation of the King of Ubud a dozen other bodies were disinterred and brought to the fire for cremation. It was not a solemn or sad occasion as you might expect. For while the Gamelan, a traditional Indonesian orchestra, played those attending chatted, smiled and celebrated the lives of the departed and speculated on their reincarnation.

Whilst the tourist areas of Bali were well organised, pleasant, safe and enjoyable the interior can still present surprises. On a walk to see a waterfall Margaret stopped to chat to three local women. They scattered with squeals as a yellow and green snake dropped among them. As they leapt back pointing, the snake grabbed a frog and dragged it into the grass. Only Margaret followed the snake to watch it swallowing the frog whole, the frog’s back legs twitching as they slowly disappeared into the snake’s stretched maw.

Our abiding memory of Bali will be of deep men’s voices singing a traditional Balinese song as the sun set behind a Hindu temple on a cliff overlooking the darkening violet sky and shimmering sea.     

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